


Beyond the Night

by wanderingsmith



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, post-botfa everyone lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1462138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The rangers warned me there was a dwarf patrolling the Wild, who meant us no harm.  But I'd like to know *why* you are doing so.  The rangers protect us because it is their task.  Dwarrows.. I was under the impression only protect their own, when they leave their mountains at all."</p><p>"That is true enough.  As for myself, I *am* protecting my own."</p><p>Fortinbras blinked, mouth dropping, "..You claim a hobbit as kin?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> not 'based on', but this song did cross my mind  
> Beyond The Night  
> Rachel Lutrell (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UpvWOlsAjx4)
> 
> Beyond the night, a rising sun.  
> Beyond the night the battle's won,  
> the battle's won.
> 
> Fear and shame now in the past,  
> Pain and sorrow gone at last  
> gone at last
> 
> Circle renewed peace will be found  
> Beyond the Night on sacred ground
> 
> River flows, led by the wind  
> First new breath her journey begins  
> her journey begins

His first memory on waking was of guilt. Of seeing countless dwarrows once again laying on the bloody field of battle besides orcs and wargs. Once again a generation felled for an attempt to regain something lost by his family. How could he have let his instinctive love of gold blind him to what truly mattered? Bard had killed the dragon; Durin's people could once again dwell in Erebor. If not for his damned pride and the old curse, they might have made ready to face the enemy together and he could be in the home he had dreamt of for so long. With his burglar at his side.

"Bilbo."

"I'm sorry, Thorin." 

Thorin opened gritty eyes when he heard someone reply to the pitiful whimper he had not been able to hold in. 

Balin sat in a chair besides his bed, papers strewn on a nearby table and his lap. And a sorrowful expression on his features that left Thorin gasping in pained denial before he even heard his words, "I'm sorry, lad. We looked everywhere for our burglar-"

Thorin turned his head away and Balin took the hint and went silent, followed by rustling papers and the shuffle of tired feet. Leaving Thorin to his grief.

"I'll just go and let everyone know you've awakened, shall I?"

"No." He knew it had been a rhetorical question, but the thoughts in Thorin's mind were no longer hazed with madness, and a new plan was forming out of the pain and endless regret now filing him. "Fíli?"

There was a suspicious pause before Balin replied in a careful tone, "Lives. Injured, as are many, but all of the- all of we twelve will recover."

I am sorry, my burglar. I am sorry Bilbo. 

He turned to his old friend, shifting his body in tiny increments to test the extent of the pain as he spoke, hardly surprised at how dull his voice was, "Get the company, speak to no one else and make sure they do not either."

He was still king; Balin could not ignore a simple command. But still he was glad to see the old dwarf leave without an argument.

If only he could have beaten back that uncontrollable need for Erebor's gold, even just enough to hear Bilbo's warnings for only a moment. Even if all he had managed to do was send the hobbit away.. at least he would not have-

Thorin made himself sit up rather than finish that thought. That way lay a different madness. There were things he needed to do; he did not deserve the peace of insanity.

"What are you doing up, Thorin Oakenshield? Are you trying to kill yourself?? And why did Balin refuse to disclose your condition?"

Of course the wizard would be the first to come. Thorin bit his cheek to keep quiet as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Several broken ribs. And some sort of large gash spanning his belly and halfway to his shoulder. It would take unpleasant time to heal, he knew from experience. But allowing himself to die was no way to repay his betrayal of his shield-brother.

Once he'd caught his breath, he looked up to meet Gandalf's glare. After all the dwarf had done, he could not find it in himself to glare back, though the wizard had too often kept secrets for him to be willing to apologize to him either. "Balin did as I requested, wizard. I have my reasons."

For a few heartbeats, the eyes staring into his seemed to pierce with a more-than-human light. When they were again those of a rather tired old man, Gandalf seemed to relax, speaking quietly, "It no longer holds you."

Thorin stared back, thinking of the mounds of coins and a cursed jewel. Thinking of the soft body of a hobbit laying dead under a mountain of orcs somewhere. Of pain-filled eyes staring into his. 

His last image of his burglar, and Erebor's curse had robbed him of so much as awareness of it!

"No. Nothing holds me." Only a ghost was left to hold his soul.

Gandalf started to reply, but the arrival of Ori and Dwalin interrupted him. The rest of the company all filed in, variously injured and variously worried and suspicious. The last were Balin, with Fíli leaning on him, and Bofur and Nori carrying Kíli on a stretcher.

Everyone had been far too quiet for a group of dwarrows, especially this group. Thorin could see wariness of him in their eyes. And had another reason to know his plans were right.

Balin, too-wise old dwarf that he was, had brought Fíli to stand so that with a careful push on the bed, Thorin stood before his heir, accepting his old friend's grasp on his shoulder to keep from pitching to the ground.

His nephew was staring at him with a worried confusion almost certainly born out of poppy juice for the bandages bulking his chest. "Fíli," Angrily remembering the time when Erebor was still the clean and shining memory that held his soul, even if it meant his love for his sister and nephews always came second, Thorin twisted hard to get the signet ring off the finger it'd sat on for over a hundred years. "Son of Víli," He held the ring out on his palm. "I am Thorin, son of Thráin. Take up the ring of the Throne of Erebor, and with it the leadership of our people."

He waited, confident Fíli would not fail in his duties. Proud to watch him finally take the ring and slide it on his finger. He nodded solemnly, "Fíli, son of Víli, King Under the Mountain."


	2. Chapter 2

Having dealt with enough rangers to be aware of the dangers of surprising warriors, the hobbit started whistling as soon as he saw the glow of the fire an hour's walk from Michel Delving. And glad he was of those rangers' news that the dwarf wandering the Downs was friendly, because the tall, armoured and well-armed figure that rose to greet him would have caused him a great deal of concern if he'd encountered it un-warned.

"Master dwarf. I am-"

"Fortinbras, Thain of the Shire." The respectful bow of the dwarf's head made Fortinbras' back straighten, well able to see the regal bearing under the rough condition of the other. "I had not meant to actually trespass on your lands."

About to comment, the Thain paused, frowning, "How do you know me?" Even if the rangers had given the dwarf his name, there was no reason for him to assume a hobbit approaching his camp alone would be the Thain.

Seeming to relax, the dwarf gave him something like a sad smile, the fearsomeness dissolving from those stiff features, "You were well described to me, once."

Fortinbras sat on his side of the fire at the dwarf's nodded invitation, staring at him thoughtfully. He doubted even the rangers he'd met a dozen times could describe him well enough to recognize from other hobbits. But the closed-off grief on the bearded face did not invite curiosity, nor even a polite request for a name that hadn't been offered, and a Thain learns to respect other races' privacy, when he can. "The rangers warned me there was a dwarf patrolling the Wild, who meant us no harm. But I'd like to know *why* you are doing so. The rangers protect us because it is their task. Dwarrows.. I was under the impression only protect their own, when they leave their mountains at all." If the stranger knew of a danger coming, the Thain needed to be aware of it; privacy did not trump the safety of his people.

"That is true enough, though I would point out that the other races do not protect dwarrows either. As for myself, I *am* protecting my own."

Fortinbras blinked, mouth dropping, "..You claim a hobbit as kin?"

The dwarf's expression turned fierce again, flinty eyes staring at the Thain, "Yes. I owe him life debt and friendship and failed to keep him alive. All I may do now to honour him is protect his kin."

Life debt? Though the notion was right out of a faerie tale, still, he couldn't deny that it fit the figure across the fire. "Very well." Fortinbras handed over the coin-shaped shirriff token he'd brought, "If you should ever need reinforcement, or any help, show this to any hobbit. If they cannot help you, they will take you to one that can."


	3. Chapter 3

The battle is won.

Erebor is freed. Dale will be rebuilt.

And Bilbo Baggins of Bag End had no place here. 

He'd made the best choice he could see, and would have stood by it. Even if he hadn't seen Thorin fall. 

If he'd been nearer, he would have thrown himself at the dwarf's murderer. If he'd been an archer, he'd have ripped a bow out of the hands of an elf and made such an end of the orc that all of Morgoth's creatures would remember. 

But he wasn't a warrior, regardless of anyone choosing to call him shield-brother. He was a simple hobbit who had left home behind for the peace-disturbing Outside, foolishly thinking he could help a king reclaim his people's home.

With pain and sorrow drowning his sight in night, Bilbo kept his ring on and started walking. He avoided everyone, no matter their race. The dwarrows he had betrayed; they would not have aught to say to him. The Men he'd betrayed his friends for; he had no wish to speak to them ever again. The elves he would not soon forgive for their treatment of his friends. Though he could see the irony in blaming the elves for a betrayal when he himself had done the same, in the end.

He found the river and followed it. He had no place here; it was time to return home.

 

It wasn't until he woke from his painful drowse in a tree that his hunger became loud enough to overrule the dullness of his thoughts. He looked around and saw tents beginning to go up a little ways away. Climbing down, he walked away from the water, making extra sure the ring was on his finger. When he got to the first tent and saw an elvish warrior step away from his travel pack to speak to another, he realized he had no way to pay for food.

He could beg on the help he'd attempted to provide. But he could not help but remember these creatures had imprisoned his friends for just such a request. And he had spent enough time with the dwarrows that the idea of begging any of Thranduil's people actually made his hand clench on Sting's hilt. "Ishkh khakfe andu null." He murmured it, quiet so there was no one near enough to locate him from it. Though he had no idea what the words meant, he remembered the voice that had said them. The dwarf would not approve of tears and Bilbo savagely swiped at his eyes before scurrying to that pack, trying to remember how much food he'd needed for the journey.

In the end he came across an elf he remembered as having dragged Thorin to his cell with more than necessary rudeness and he took pleasure in stealing *all* of his food, and blankets besides. The pack he'd first taken he left near the edge of camp, his general anger at elves abating enough not to need to rob the stranger after all, instead making do with a handful from several different sources. 

Looking up, he found himself looking at what had to be the Great East Road. Hoisting the blankets he'd shaped into a pack for the long-lasting elvish travel bread and waterskins he'd taken, Bilbo started his long walk in the evil-tinged dark of the ring-world.


End file.
